Here Stands a Fool
by BuJyo
Summary: Post Season 3 Finale: Crappy years and ill timed challenges result in foolish actions. You can only push people away for so long until you fall down yourself. Then you have to hope someone will pick you up. T for language and a peek of zest.
1. Ruby Slippers

_*******_** A post-finale fic...you knew you'd get one from me! Mary is the strong one, right? The one who can always claw her way to the top. Do you ever wonder why she pushes? Why she runs? What happens when the carpet is pulled out from under her one too many times? *****

*****It's rated T with the usual potty mouth warnings. There's a 5 second zesty scene down the road. Just close your eyes if you don't want to see it, 'cause I'm not changing the rating for a quickie :) ! The characters arent' mine...which is good because I'd beat them senseless if they were. Fools.*********

***** So many thanks to roar526 for reading garbled snippets and paragraphs out of order...over and over and over again. We're having fun writing the backstory though!*****

***** Many thanks to rj_lupins_kat for her continued encouragement and promises of a mini-winery! *****

* * *

_**How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes**_  
_**I struggle to find any truth in your lies**_  
_**And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know**_  
_**This weakness I feel I must finally show**_

_**Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all**_  
_**But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall**_  
_**Lend me your eyes I can change what you see**_  
_**But your soul you must keep, totally free**_

_**- Awake My Soul, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

"…someone who makes you think." Marshall paused. "What?"

Mary barely heard the question for the roaring in her brain. _Oh my God he is actually putting this on the table in the middle of the fucking office. I can't do this…I want…no…please stop talking! Please don't please don't please don't..._

"What?...I'm thinking," she managed to reply, frantically hoping for a way out of this. Praying he wouldn't know she was coming apart at the seams at this very moment.

"Stan the man!" Mary jumped up and rapidly crowded her boss into his office, leaving Marshall with one hip on her desk and a look of pain on his face.

She didn't even know what she said to Stan; had a hard time remembering much of the next half hour at the office until she was able to flee.

"…_maybe messy is what you need."_

As soon as the words were out of his mouth Mary knew where it was going and her stomach dropped into the basement. Seven years of carefully building a comfortable house of glass and he was going to hand her the sledgehammer that she would use to destroy it. It wouldn't matter which way she swung; something would shatter beyond repair. Her. Him. Them.

"God damn you, Marshall!" Mary yelled as she slammed her palm against the steering wheel.

"_Maybe instead of just anyone…you should be looking for someone."_

The subtle changes in their relationship after Raph left were not lost on her, and neither was she immune. After everything, all the crap of the past year, there was Marshall. Still in her corner. Still standing her back up. Still loving her. Every circumstance and excuse had been ripped brutally away and she was forced to notice. He was the brass ring. The pot of gold. Ruby slippers. But these things were not for her, and Mary had to turn away. It hurt, and she tried to make everyone hurt with her. Especially Marshall.

She had left him sitting on that desk because she didn't know what else to do; all her options resulted in pain. But she knew how to run. Knew how to hide and lick her wounds hoping that the next time she stuck her head out the world would again be right. Maybe he'd think she misunderstood? Maybe he'd sigh in that way he did when she knew he was again giving her a bye, wander back to his desk and bury himself in work. Maybe he'd go home and toss back a shot, curse her six ways from Sunday and sleep in his boots. Maybe he'd stop loving her like he was supposed to.

Mary angrily wiped tears from her eyes as she stalked up the walk to let herself into the house. They had been headed back to normal in the last month or so, she thought. She had stepped back and warded him off. Conversation had been less intense and a little easier, casual looks and touches back on the playing field, and she was hoping the proper distance had been reestablished. He had fooled her.

"Jesus, Marshall," Mary groused as she grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed to the back yard. "Seven years of cowboys and dancing girls and **now** you grow a fucking pair?"

_Well, at least one of us has the balls to take a stand,_ she chastised herself. Stretched out on the lounge chair, Mary let her head fall back, closed her eyes and tried to ignore the heartache.

/\\\/\\\

She made the decision sometime between flossing her teeth at three in the morning and buying cantaloupe later at five in the evening. The days were just packed with…nothing, and she was restless. Unsettled. Guilty. Mary had picked a fight with Brandi on Saturday to the point of getting Peter involved. Neither were speaking to her at the moment. She tried to talk to Jinx on Sunday. It turned into a blame-fest for ruined lives and lost chances. Mary cried herself to sleep. She didn't call Marshall.

Vacations were for families with kids, couples and people who actually had friends. Those were the people who needed a break from the hustle and bustle in order to reconnect and share stories. The remaining muck of humanity needed to just stick with the day to day basics. Otherwise, the beer aisle became too familiar and beaches in foreign countries actually started to seem like a good idea. That led to booking flights and wondering about seatmates…and bed mates…and realizations that every day you didn't call your best friend was another day you caused him pain.

Jinx's box of forgotten dreams should've stayed forgotten, Mary should've let Brandi drink that damned bottle of wine, and Marshall should've kept his idiotic mouth shut.

She stepped off the plane in Cabo San Lucas into a hot and humid Monday evening. The airfare had been cheap, the resort available in the off season and all Mary wanted to do was strip down to the bare essentials and use an ice filled drink to cool off. Customs gave her a headache, the shuttle ride to the hotel made her nauseous, and the room smelled like cigarettes. The tired woman stepped out onto the balcony and rested her hands on the ledge as she surveyed the nearly empty beach.

A couple of days to clear her head. To make her gut stop churning with the feeling that this was as good as it was going to get. Some R & R to take her mind off a man who offered her so much more, and all the reasons she'd always have to decline.

Mary stretched her neck as she watched a kayaker slowly track across the bay. She really needed to get out of this funk. Bounce back. Marshall's words just kept playing through her head and it didn't make any sense. Why call her to the carpet now? Make her doubt herself and her decisions? Why should she have to change?

"_Someone who challenges you…"_ Mary covered her ears as his voice echoed in her head.

"No," she spoke to the cactus in the corner. "I am who I am. Stop asking me to be more. Some things aren't possible."

Whirling, she stomped back into the room and ordered a bottle of tequila from room service. Throwing some clothes onto the bed, she sloppily unpacked and looked in her purse for some money to tip whoever delivered the liquor. Her cell phone fell onto the floor and she stared at it for a long moment. Bending slowly to pick it up, Mary sucked air through her teeth as she rubbed her thumb over the buttons.

"I am who I am. Nothing more," she whispered, chest tight as she dialed.

* * *

***** Oh, you KNOW who she called! Don't shake your head...yeah, she did. Talk about challenging someone...Marshall really did a job on her this time. Shall I continue? Please REVIEW to let me know! *****


	2. Empty Sockets

***** All I can say is...close your eyes if you don't want to see it. It's not a good day for Marshall, and Mary's more than slightly conflicted. *****

* * *

_**Spare me your judgments and spare me your dreams**_  
_**Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams**_  
_**I sit alone in this winter clarity which clouds my mind**_  
_**Alone in the wind and the rain you left me**_  
_**It's getting dark darling, too dark to see**_  
_**And I'm on my knees, and your faith in shreds, it seems**_

_**Corrupted by the simple sniff of riches blown**_  
_**I know you have felt much more love than you've shown**_  
_**And I'm on my knees and the water creeps to my chest**_

_**- Thistle and Weeds, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

Marshall sighed again as he arranged the pages of Father Gabe's file. Mary was supposed to sign it before she left for vacation, and the blank line irritated him on more levels than it should. He should call her and make her drag her ass over here to do it right now. He knew she was hiding out at home. She had bolted like a rabbit after his little speech last Thursday. Used his trip to the restroom as an excuse to gather her things and leave. Couldn't even say good-bye…farewell…see ya. Ran.

He knew he had scared the crap out of her; hadn't done anything healthy to his nerves either. He should've resisted the bait. Should've kept his mouth shut and let her hunt down as many drunken cowboys as she needed to in order to keep the status quo. Marshall made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat as he ruthlessly applied a rubber stamp to the appropriate places in the documents.

No, the part that really made him mad was that she understood. She heard the words and he saw her make the connection in her mind. He finally managed to pull the cord on that lightbulb and she frantically unscrewed it and left him with an empty socket. No explanation. No 'it's against the rules' or 'I find you repulsive' or even 'call me later when this discussion would be more appropriate'. Just dead air. Seven years of partnership; blood, sweat and tears in the confines of SUVs, gas stations and hospital rooms and she couldn't even give him a straight answer. Couldn't tell him where he stood. He didn't demand a response and got metaphorically castrated yet again. When was he going to learn that Mary Shannon was not a woman you could pussyfoot around? She had avoidance and denial down to an art form, and he should've learned his lesson by now.

Marshall rubbed the back of his neck aggressively with a loud sigh. How many times had he wished she never had walked into his life, then turned around and thanked God for every day that she had? He did actually wonder at what point his brain shorted out a synapse of common sense that afternoon. Hadn't really thought through what he would've done had she made a scene. _You advocated messy, buddy. You would've been cleaning that up for a while._ He sighed deeply and rolled his shoulders. _Let it go. Like you always let it go. Give her some space._

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Marshall tapped the pages of the report even and grabbed a folder. His eyes fell on the initial release agreement.

"Fuck," he muttered, aggravation again flaring.

Faber hadn't filled out his badge and authorization number, nor had he signed the damn release. _How the hell did this get past the powers that be?_ Chewing his lip, Marshall weighed his options. Send the file to Headquarters as is after getting Mary's signature and be fairly assured no one would care at this point since Gabe was already out, or call Faber and play fax tag. Blank lines and empty boxes gave him ulcers. Marshall growled creative curses as he pulled up Faber's number.

"Mike Faber," the agent answered with a smile in his voice.

"Faber. It's Marshall Mann in Albuquerque." Marshall was all business. Told Faber what he was missing and asked him to get the document back to him by the end of the day. "Do you have a fax at your desk?"

Faber grinned slyly as his eyes slid to look at the bathroom door where Mary had disappeared into the shower. _Her one man entourage didn't know. Interesting._

"Well, Marshall," he drawled. "That's a tough one. Can you fax it to the hotel here in Cabo? I'm sure Mary won't mind taking a few minutes out of our day to let me help you out, considering it was her witness after all." The silence on the other end of the line was telling.

Marshall wasn't sure he was still breathing. "Gee, Mike, I'm pretty sure faxing a confidential document to an unsecured site would be frowned upon. How 'bout you just sign it and send it to me when Mary kicks your ass back to the States? Tomorrow or the next day would be fine." He disconnected with a slow, controlled movement.

/\\\/\\\/\\\

"What are you grinning about?" Mary asked as Faber stepped into the shower. She drew him under the spray and nipped at his neck.

He ran his hands over her slick curves with a groan, "Just got out of some paperwork, that's all."

"You've been here for eight hours and you're already talking to the office?" she teased as he pressed her against the wall.

Faber's lovemaking was rough, and Mary thought it was exactly what she needed. There had been little chit chat after his arrival, and alcohol and sore muscles were beginning to take away the deeper ache she was running from.

Mike captured her mouth in a long kiss, hands on her breasts…hips. "Don't worry about it, Pet," he murmured into her mouth, "it can wait until I get back."

Mary glared slightly and gripped his hair. "I told you I don't like nick…oh!" she gasped as he lifted her leg over his hip and pushed into her. _I'll yell at him later_, she thought, attention pulled elsewhere.

/\\\/\\\/\\\

She studied Faber's sleeping form as the darkness in the room lightened to gray with the impending sunrise. His breathing was punctuated by occasional small snores, a deep sigh and a sniffle accompanying a roll away from her. Mary lay still, and the cry of a gull outside triggered a similar memory.

Exhausted, sore and residually angry, she had watched Marshall fall asleep in that hotel room in San Francisco. She alternated between worry and relief. He had suffered the worst of the injuries from the incident and needed to be woken frequently per doctors' orders. Mary had listened to his breathing, watched his face, looked for any sign of wrongness. She didn't sleep. Couldn't take that chance. Couldn't lose him.

Her stomach growled and dragged her back to the present. Rubbing her face, Mary slid out of the bed and pulled on some sweats. Faber could sleep as long as he wanted, but she was going down to get some breakfast. The slumbering man rolled over again, mumbling a name that wasn't hers.

Echoes of words jumped into her mind, _"…maybe instead of just anyone…you should be looking for someone."_

She shoved her feet into a pair of flip flops, muttering as she left the room, "Shut up, Marshall."

* * *

***** I'm thinking she may be regretting her decisions juuuuuust a little bit. And poor Marshall...sucker punched. Hang in there, my friends. You never know what's around the next bend! Please, please REVIEW! You are all so generous with them...love it! *****


	3. Lame Horses

***** Oh, the tangled webs we weave (many apologies to the Bard)! They're both slowly sliding down the wall to sit huddled on the floor. Wondering..what the hell happened? *****

* * *

_**But tell me now, where was my fault**_  
_**In loving you with my whole heart**_  
_**Oh tell me now, where was my fault**_  
_**In loving you with my whole heart**_

_**A white blank page and a swelling rage, rage**_  
_**You did not think when you sent me to the brink, the brink**_  
_**You desired my attention but denied my affections, my affections**_

_**- White Blank Page, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

Marshall stared at his phone through the smoky haze of the small, crowded bar. His eyes burned slightly, miasma of Marlboro combined with the effects of Walker. The rowdy crowds of happy hour had morphed into the comfortable laughter of old friends and the telling of older stories, and the click-clack of pool balls in the back room reminded him of the shooting range. His target was acquired. "Bang bang," he drawled, pointing at the cell.

He had come here to forget, but he couldn't get the image of Mary and Faber out of his mind no matter how many shots of whiskey he used to rinse it away. He cursed himself for calling the agent. It would've been better to be blissfully unaware than knowing they were together right at this moment. Touching each other.

"Are you the cowboy this time, Mare?" he muttered into his glass with a sneer, "Or are you just enjoying the ride?"

Finishing the shot, Marshall dropped his arm back to the bar and raised bleary eyes to the bartender as a signal for another. The older man looked at him sadly and slowly shook his head. Cut off. Marshall almost argued, then changed his mind as he checked his balance on the stool. Better to sober up here for a while than wake up passed out on his front lawn. His thoughts were drawn back to his partner.

He could've pieced his dignity back together after her flight this time. Could've managed to once again corral misplaced feelings and restless desires and gone back to being partner and friend. It was a role he was comfortable in, even if it wasn't the ultimate goal. He figured she'd run amok for a short time, blow off some steam and come strolling back into the office next week acting like nothing had happened. That, he could've handled. Ignorant of all that had transpired.

It had never bothered him this much when she was with Raph. Not in the beginning…not even when she rolled him after the breakup. He knew he just had to wait that one out. But this time…Faber. Marshall growled as he thought of the agent. There was something about the man that just rubbed him the wrong way. Predatory. Marshall didn't like how he looked at Mary. Didn't like how Mary had looked at him after they had spent a week together. Was his partner really so clueless that she didn't know when she was prey? What had driven her to make that call? How could she subject herself to being someone's…kitten?

"_What?...I'm thinking."_ Marshall remembered seeing the knowledge in her eyes as she connected the dots. She knew what he was asking…what he was offering. Turned him down. Kicked him to the curb. Hard.

He set his jaw as he grabbed his phone. Deliberate in his actions, Marshall typed out a message. His chest hurt as he pressed 'send'.

A faint cloud of perfume enveloped him, and he looked up to see a woman settle onto the stool next to him. She was slightly flustered and looked just a little tired. Sighing, she signaled for a drink. Marshall watched her until she looked at him with a glint of annoyance in her eyes. It reminded him of Mary. Smiling tightly, he nodded at her in greeting. She looked him up and down. Assessed his worth. Her drink was delivered and she took a sip as her gaze fell on his boots.

"Nice boots," she teased. "What are you? A cowboy?"

Marshall slid his phone back into his pocket and rested an elbow on the bar with a smile. "I am tonight."

/\\\/\\\/

The indigo sky was beautiful; painted with the faintest tinge of royal blue against the sea and revealing the first stars of the night. A tantalizing whiff of honeysuckle permeated the air. She watched the undulating black ocean in a trance, listening for the faint shush of waves against the sand as the tide crept back out; noticing a slight glow infusing the froth as each wave clung to the shore. Mary ran her tongue along her teeth with a faint huff as she recalled yet another factoid permanently imprinted upon her brain by Marshall.

"Little microscopic creatures that phosphoresce as they're tumbled about," she mumbled into the night.

The soft breeze was disturbed by movement behind her, and Mary's gut clenched slightly as she knew Faber had stepped out onto the balcony. Her eyes traveled to the newly opened bottle of Tequila on the table next to her. How many was that? Two bottles since last night? Three? Plus the wine Mike had brought when he arrived. Too much to be healthy. Not nearly enough to stop feeling sick.

"Mmm…" Faber purred as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Were you just talking about another tumble? So soon, Kitten? Maybe I need to get you a ball of yarn to play with."

Mary closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. The physical and mental frustration that prompted his invite had been worked out by mid morning. Her body was sated, but her mind now tossed guilt and shame into the already roiling mess of unresolved feelings and denied desires. Faber's previous declarations of wanting to get to know her had been forgotten as soon as they wrinkled the sheets, and they had nothing more to talk about. His hands were no longer welcome, and his pet name provoked thoughts of violence.

_No. This isn't what I wanted at all._ Tensing, she stepped forward out of his embrace and refilled her glass.

"Let's test your recall here, Mike. How many times is it now that I've asked you not to call me kitten? Maybe you're not clear on the request? Need it in triplicate or something?" She punctuated the question by setting the bottle back on the table more forcefully than she needed to.

Faber assessed the woman in front of him. No teasing smile. Body language guarded. Eyes flashing. Pissed. Thirty six hours in her presence and he was already getting the brush off. Expected, but still slightly disappointing and irritating.

"Let me guess. Afterglow wearing off, Inspector?" he drawled, raising his eyebrows for permission to pour himself a glass. She slid a glass to him. He poured. "I figured it for a booty call…though the most interesting I've received in a while…but I'm surprised I've worn you out so soon. You had potential."

Mary set her jaw and glared. Ass. "What can I say. Gotta keep the trail ride short for the old horses. Too easy for you to come up lame." Her statement hit a nerve, and she grinned slightly at the noticeable twitch in his right eye.

Faber tossed back the amber liquid and saluted her with the empty glass. "Well, you did live up to my expectations, Shannon. Great ass, tits to die for and an enthusiasm that I'm sure few can match. I think we both got what we wanted?"

She stared at him for a moment, expressionless, then turned her attention back to the sea. "You weren't what I wanted. Good luck in Denver, Mike."

* * *

***** Both now get to nurse regrets. Wonder if they feel any better? Yeah, didn't think so. Faber's a jerk...good thing Mary can be a bitch :) Please REVIEW...you all just make my night! ****


	4. Court jesters

***** The morning after is never pretty, but when you realize you truly stand alone...*****

* * *

_**Seal my heart and break my pride**_  
_**I've nowhere to stand and now nowhere to hide**_  
_**Align my heart, my body, my mind**_  
_**To face what I've done and do my time**_

_**- Dust Bowl Dance, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

Mary groaned and rubbed her temples as she tried to free herself from the sheets on the bed. Loathe to open her eyes, she peeked through her lashes only to wish she could slip back into unconsciousness. She was still in her clothes from the night before, jackhammers had begun to pound behind her eyes and she smelled like vomit. Breathing through another wave of nausea, Mary tried to piece together the events of the prior evening.

Faber had left, she was sure of that. She had finished the tequila, ordered more and…that was it. Blank. Thank God there wasn't another body in the bed with her. Mary moaned again as the jackhammers brought friends. The room was warm and humid, and she realized the balcony doors were still open. The fresh air was appreciated as soon as she began to lever herself out of bed. She needed a shower.

It took a few hours to regain her equilibrium. By the time she rose to clean up the room with thoughts of attempting to visit the restaurant, Mary was regretting the whole trip. Actually, she was regretting a lot of things. Choices, decisions, twists of fate. Her whole life seemed to be made up of events that later mocked her. Attempts to escape the chaos only resulted in being made to look the fool and hurt those that she never wanted to hurt.

"Case in point," she muttered, throwing away another empty bottle. Here she stood. Forty years old and surrounded by half empty bottles and dirty sheets smelling of stale sex. The Court Jester. Relegated to leftover wine and sleeping with the dogs.

"All right, that's enough, Shannon." Mary reprimanded herself as she threw her clothes into the suitcase. Marshall's damn speech had really thrown her for a loop, but it was time to put her shit together and roll back onto the tracks. What was done was done. The return to normal would be painful, embarrassing and possibly wrought with tearful apology, but it had to start somewhere. He'd be there. He'd be pissed and likely surly, make her work for her redemption, but he'd be there. She had the room until Monday, but paradise had already worn out its welcome.

Checking under the bed, Mary sucked in a breath as she spotted her cell phone. Two missed calls from Brandi and five from Jinx. A quick review showed them to be nothing but tearful rehashes of the fights before she left. Sighing, Mary looked at the last missed call. A pang of disappointment. An unknown number. Brow furrowed, she listened to the message.

"Inspector Shannon, this is Susan Haasl from Allison Pearson's office. Inspector Marshall Mann listed you as a reference on his application forms being processed by the Atlanta office. We're hoping to push these through rather quickly and need you to complete an online form and write a recommendation. Please call me back at your earliest convenience to finalize some details. Thank you."

Her gaze was focused on a small stain on the wall behind the television. The throbbing in her head matched the tempo of her pounding pulse, and a trickle of sweat ran down her cleavage. _Application forms. Atlanta. References. Peterson Security. _The tangled thoughts clogged her brain and she slowly sank onto the mattress. Mary was shaking her head slightly as rational thought tried to break through. He would've told her if he was looking at other positions. They agreed on that. Stan would've said something. It couldn't be what she imagined.

She thought back to the last few months and realized she hadn't spent much time keeping track of Marshall. Her efforts to keep him at arm's length had resulted in less information exchanged between them, and the high witness load contributed to keeping them apart. Had she missed it? Had he tried to tell her? Thursday's speech suddenly took on new meaning.

Had that been her chance to keep him there? Was he asking her to tell him to stay? Why couldn't the damn man just ask a straight up question? He demanded these mental gymnastics from her, and she always fell flat on her face. Guessed wrong and screwed it up. It was exhausting.

"Jesus." Mary was breathing fast as she looked back down at the phone. A flutter of panic. She needed to call him. The text icon in the corner caught her eye. When did she miss that? The day Faber arrived. From Marshall. Dread formed a ball of ice in her stomach as she opened the folder.

_"Discussed Gabe's incomplete forms with Faber. As always, Mike is so enlightening. Stan will have the paperwork when you return. Good to know you're done thinking...don't drink the water...Kitten."_

Mary moaned softly as she remembered words in a shower, _"…just got out of some paperwork…"_

The phone slid from her hands as she cradled her head and let tears fall to the floor. "Fuck."

/\\\/\\\/

She had hung up twice. It had been twenty four hours since she sent him the text message with the simple request to call her. One sunset, one sunrise, two high tides and more cheap plastic umbrellas than she cared to count. Mary had spent most of the time sitting in the lounge chair on the balcony; unraveling her life in her mind while trying to drown the resulting pain in a liquid rainbow. Any sleep had been alcohol induced; food forgotten. He didn't call.

She had tried to muster up anger…betrayal…outrage. Some emotion that would drive her to lay the blame elsewhere and blindly charge back into a life of avoidance and denial. Something to rally a charge back into Albuquerque with insults and threats at the ready. Demand that he have it out with her right then. She wanted to feel insulted…wronged in some way. Nothing. It was as though a switch had been flipped and the lights had gone out. There was nothing to blame but the inadequacy of self.

Mary dialed.

The tears began to fall again as she listened to the rings and chewed on a fingernail. Voice mail. Again. This time she waited.

"Hey," she croaked, then cleared her throat, determined to overcome the fear for this one time. "I…ran…and I'm sorry." _But I'm terrified I'll destroy you._ "I know why you have to leave. I get it. I can't hold you to a promise that you no longer want to keep...that I've made impossible for you to keep. But you're always expecting me to display some strength of character that I don't possess." Her voice broke. _Why do you constantly demand more from me?_ Mary took a deep breath and continued, "I can't be the woman you want me to be, Marshall. I'm not enough. You deserve something more, so much more, and this is all I got." _You'll always be reaching for more, and I'll eventually get left behind._ "I can't watch myself fail anymore, and I can't come back to see…an empty desk." She stifled a sob. _I love you. I don't want to leave you._ "Stay safe."

Her hand shook as she placed the phone on the table and picked up her glass. The whiskey burned all the way to her gut and she gagged slightly on the taste. Words from past and present tumbled through her mind and she stood suddenly to pace. The balcony was too small…the room was too small. Mary jogged over to the bed and stuffed a few things into the pockets of her shorts. Debated bringing the phone for a moment, cursed, then shoved it in too. Just in case. Out the door without a destination…she just wanted to forget.

* * *

***** This doesn't seem like a good development. Mary is NOT in a good place. Drunk texting...never really the best idea. And what's going on with Atlanta? Your REVIEWS have been outstanding and I'm so excited! Thank you so much :) *****


	5. Relief pitchers

***** Marshall's talking himself down. He's trying to play the game, but other people just won't play by the rules. And I just want to say...Marshall on the hunt...oh yeah! *****

* * *

_**And after the storm,**_  
_**I run and run as the rains come**_  
_**And I look up, I look up,**_  
_**on my knees and out of luck,**_  
_**I look up.**_

_**Night has always pushed up day**_  
_**You must know life to see decay**_  
_**But I won't rot, I won't rot**_  
_**Not this mind and not this heart,**_  
_**I won't rot.**_

_**- After the Storm, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

One text message. One voice mail. The only two messages on his phone he hadn't picked up. Reminders. Spinning the cell on his desk blotter, Marshall sightlessly stared at the chair across the room that should again be filled tomorrow. She would be pissed at him for not returning her communications, even more furious when she found out he hadn't even looked at them. Oh, he wanted to. Almost gave in and listened to her voice mail yesterday morning. But no. She could wait. Faber had returned his fax on Friday morning. She probably evicted him sometime late Wednesday and the agent spent a day licking his wounds. Lips curling in peevish delight, Marshall took a moment to enjoy the childish victory. This time, he wasn't going to answer the call for the relief pitcher. The stunt double. All the King's men. Planned to sit down and enjoy his tea while she huffed and puffed and screamed 'off with his head'.

Random song lyrics filtered through Marshall's mind as he turned back to his computer screen. A musical countdown back to normal. He would wait her out…like he always waited her out, but maybe this time she'd notice the silence. Maybe next time she'd consider him before closing time. A rivulet of regret slithered through him as he remembered a smoky bar and strange bedsheets. Mary buried her head in the sand and he buried…Marshall stabbed at the 'enter' button to interrupt his own thought process. He hated this game, didn't play it well, but he couldn't step out of the arena. There was too much at stake.

The downward turn of thought was interrupted by the buzzing phone. He looked at the screen and frowned. International number. Answered warily.

"Inspector Marshall Mann."

"Senor Mann," an accented voice replied, "this is Esteban Montando, manager at the Villa le Estancia in Cabo San Lucas. How are you today?"

Marshall's stomach did a nauseating flip as he returned a brief pleasantry.

"Are you acquainted with Mary Shannon? She placed your name on her registration form as an emergency contact."

"What's happened?" Marshall stood, hands shaking. Closed his eyes to the images. Blood stained gurneys.

"Ah, that is the question I cannot answer," the manager replied. "Senora Shannon should have checked out this morning at eleven." Esteban relayed the details. Mary's luggage was still in the room, her valuables still in the safe. They needed the room. She would get charged for the day.

Marshall automatically glanced at the clock during the manager's speech. 4 p.m. An hour earlier in Cabo. She likely just let time get away from her. Either not knowing or not caring that checkout time had come and gone. Just Mary being Mary. Heart rate returning to normal, he glared at the phone.

"You've left her messages?" he asked.

"I cannot." The manager sounded annoyed. "Her number has been disconnected. And also, her credit card was declined."

/\\\/\\\/\\\

Marshall stood with his hands resting on the window sill. The large picture window in his living room looked out over the arroyo across the street and the new housing development beyond. The night was dark and still, no moon to reflect off the trickle of water navigating the stream bed or the virgin glass in ranch style clones. Shadows took turns fighting for dominance as a car rolled by, their brief existence violent and startling. Struggling. Seeking.

He had tried to run off the restless anxiety and feeling of helplessness, but the streetlights only extended to the nearby cul-de-sac and the trail beyond was too dark for safe navigation. He didn't want to stray too far from home, and the thought of bright lights and unwelcome conversation deterred him from seeking other destinations. He needed to be in Mexico. Needed to be looking for Mary. He needed to turn back the clock and pick up the phone.

"Dammit," he hissed yet again, forehead meeting the window pane with a muffled thump.

After assuring the hotel manager he would attempt to reach Mary, Marshall had finally investigated her messages. Expected a clue to her whereabouts or a number left for him to call; likely instructions to get her another room and pay the bill. Something he could blissfully continue to ignore until she walked in the door. He was almost looking forward to the apoplectic fit she would pitch about being charged for an extra night without a bed. Her text message was unremarkable, but the voicemail…

In all their years together, through all the trials, he had never heard his partner sound so…lost. Detached. Defeated. He had gripped the phone tightly while he listened and silently begged her not to walk away. Willed her to think about what she was saying and reconsider. Get a good night's sleep. Splash cold water on her face. Something. Anything other than giving up. The phone call was three days ago, and now she was missing. And he never called her back.

The frantic pace of the evening had now faded to the torturous wait of night, and Marshall thought of all he had done. Phone calls to distant precincts only to meet resistance. Conversations with family that painted a picture of conflict and rejection. Questions and veiled threats to a man who should pray his name did not surface. He had covered all the bases and greased the rails down the tracks. Now he was forced to just think.

"_I …ran…and I'm sorry."_

She knew she had hurt him…disappointed him. Had likely been wrestling with regret from the moment she walked out the door. But for Mary to be unprompted to admittance and apology in the same sentence…His chest hurt under a small, hard ridge of flesh, and Marshall rubbed at it absently as the memory surfaced. Trapped and pushed to the edge of reason, he recalled the fear in her eyes as he fought for control so that she would remain grounded. Confessions and acts of contrition wrested from souls in the immortal queue. There was no doubt in his mind that if he had died there, they would've found her lying next to him. Promises.

"_I know why you have to leave…can't hold you to a promise you don't want to keep."_

The words ended in a whisper and triggered a flash of anger and righteousness. He had wanted to shout at her through the phone. Demand that she hold him to his promise. She told him he couldn't quit, and he was briefly affronted that she thought **she** would have that luxury. They had roles to play, and she had not been excused from hers.

"_I can no longer watch myself fail, and I can't come back to see…an empty desk."_

He regretted the text he had sent. Regretted the juvenile gesture of 'up yours', 'in your face', 'take that', no matter how satisfying a chaser it had briefly proved to be. It was meant to be a reminder…just a hint of his disproval and a taste of reprimand. He didn't think he had pushed that hard.

Marshall grunted and shook his head as he finally pried himself away from the window. There was a crucial part missing, he knew. Some communication gap that went beyond a missed phone call or ill timed text. She thought he was leaving. And she was letting him go.

Pinching the bridge of his nose as he retrieved a water bottle from the fridge, Marshall reviewed the events of the last few weeks yet again. There had been the typical jostle and shove; good natured one-upmanship and expected battles between them. The well choreographed tap dance of verbal dominance. But nothing out of the ordinary. What had happened? And when?

Marshall tossed his head back, looked at the clock and sank onto the couch. His flight left at 5:45 a.m. Four hours until he was on his way to get some answers. He wondered if Mary had somewhere to sleep. "Dammit, Mary," he muttered, "stop running."

/\\\/\\\/\\\

He wrinkled his nose in disgust as he stepped in a puddle of questionable liquid, jostled aside by a group of drunken revelers who crowded the miserable excuse for a sidewalk. Marshall hated Mexico. Scratch that…he hated **this** Mexico. The stereotypical coastal resort playground of the too young and very stupid. A smattering of luxury resorts dotted the beaches, but that clientele flocked together with others of similar plumage within walled off courtyards and creatively lit infinity pools. Their own little castles. The peasants of the high rise hotels and low rise cottages were relegated to the stretches of neon, enclaves of mariachi bands and dives with buckets of cheap beer.

It was 2 a.m. and the party crowd was just getting started. He had been visiting establishments along Lazaro Cardenas since nightfall, the main avenue of the tourist district a continuous stream of wide eyed visitors, bored locals and the human birds of prey. There was no real pattern to his search. He was throwing out a wide net, hoping word of mouth and his irritating presence would eventually prove fruitful. It had worked before. Someone had to have seen her…she was usually hard to miss.

Marshall had been thirty thousand feet over the Baja Peninsula when Stan updated him with the first tangible information on Mary's status. Her credit cards and cell phone accounts had been suspended late Sunday morning. Odd. Too many scenarios presented themselves for him to make sense of it. Nothing was clarified with his visit to the hotel either. Her belongings were handed over, badge and passport signed out through security. He went through her things quickly and caught a whiff of Faber's cologne. He felt queasy. Territorial. His eyebrows rose towards his hairline when he was handed the bill. He couldn't have drank that much alcohol in two weeks. _Mary…what are you doing?_

As expected, the visit to the police station had him twitching. Too many drunk tourists had taken too many joy rides and ditched too many hotel bills for them to yet be concerned with the short term absence of another gringa. The badge at least got him a report to fill out, and the language skills got the point across. He was looking for her and would not be deterred.

"Yeah, I seen her." Marshall's eyes snapped over to meet the stony stare of the bouncer. A club a little off the beaten path, the ex-pat who guarded the door tapped the picture he held in his hand.

"When?"

The man handed back the photo. "Saturday night…Sunday morning. She was three sheets to the wind when she got here and a whole set of linens worse when she left."

"Was she with anyone?" Marshall asked, nervous.

The bouncer grunted, "Nope. But it looked like she had taken on a few folks before she got here. Banged up a bit. Angry. Left that way too. She's got a mouth on her my mother would be proud of."

Marshall's mood was not conducive to humor. "Any idea where she headed? Did anyone follow her?"

The large man shrugged, "People come and go all the time, man. Looked like she was alone."

Marshall set his jaw, nodded thanks to the bouncer and looked out towards the bay as he turned towards the street. It was a big town.

"Hey," the man called to him. "She was barely on her feet. Couldn't have gone too far."

"Great," Marshall mumbled. _Just great. _Alive, but drunk and angry. A recipe for disaster.

/\\\/\\\/

The images blurred on the small screen, and Marshall paused the tape to rub at his eyes. He was beginning to think this was an exercise in futility, but he didn't know what else to do at this point. His nerves were shot after the events of the day, and he was damned if he'd sit in a hotel room and wait for someone to call him. It had taken two days to establish the facts. Two sleepless nights of disturbing dreams and phone calls that led nowhere. She was not registered anywhere in Cabo under any familiar names, she was not in any of the hospitals or in the morgue, and she was unable to rent a car or book a flight. That left ground travel. It also left a ghoulish list of more unsavory options that he refused to consider at this point.

He was sure some would say she was spiraling towards the easy way out, her morose message and self destructive actions painting a bleak picture, but Marshall refused to succumb to that lugubrious brooding. This was Mary. A woman who, despite the distance she could possibly fall, would not give the universe the satisfaction of deliberately doing herself in. She had been spitting in the face of all its efforts to remove her from this planet for too long. Someone who didn't tip on principle hardly seemed the type to tap herself when it got too hard. Not his Mary. He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his mouth to help quell emotions.

The silent picture began again as he pressed play. Women, men, families with kids preparing to travel. Checking tickets and gathering bags, pillows and the occasional wayward toddler as they boarded the buses. He watched for a familiar profile. A blonde head that would stand out in the crowd. The local PD had greased a few palms to get him the security tapes from the terminal, finally convinced that his plight was legitimate and trying to avoid even a hint of an international 'incident'.

His lunch at a local tamale stand had been interrupted by a call from Detective Medina. The officer told him they had a petty thief in custody with Mary's driver's license and credit cards on him. The corn tortilla turned to dust in his mouth, and he promised the detective he'd be at the station within the half hour. The thief was unremarkable, but his story only served to further curdle Marshall's gut. The sniveling man's fable of 'finding' the items quickly changed into an opportunistic tale of pickpocketing as Marshall scooted his chair into closer proximity. He claimed to have found her passed out on the beach. Checking her pockets, he took the wallet, her extra cash and pawned the phone. The man swore he didn't mess with her. Just left her penniless.

She may have gone back to the hotel to make the calls to suspend the accounts after that…or not. She could've called from anywhere. Could be anywhere. She was running. From him, from demons in that hotel room, from herself. On the move, but her options were limited. So he sat and watched the tapes.

The chair legs scraped loudly against the floor as Marshall suddenly leaned forward to peer at the screen. Pause. Rewind. Play. It was blurry, and the figure was partly hidden, but he knew it was her. He stared at the stilled form for a long moment, touched the screen with one finger as he drew in a shaky breath. Alive for one more day. The bus was destined for La Paz, he was destined for the rental car company first thing in the morning.

* * *

***** Where are you going Mary? She left everything behind, and it doesn't sound like she was in the best of shape. I have a feeling Marshall's going to be none too happy when he finds her! Please REVIEW! I'm really interested in what you think! *****


	6. Abusive palmettos

***** What *is* Mary doing? I don't think she expected to find herself in this spot. Of all the trials and tribulations, this is the one thing she fears the most. Unhinged, adrift, drowning in the river...whatever you want to call it...it's a slippery slope. *****

* * *

_**And my head told my heart**_  
_**"Let love grow"**_  
_**But my heart told my head**_  
_**"This time no"**_  
_**Yes, my heart told my head**_  
_**"This time no**_  
_**This time no"**_

_**- Winter Winds, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

God, she hated when Brandi watched that early morning exercise show cranked up to a volume that would wake the dead. Her head was splitting in two, and her baby sister was in the other room trying to follow along with impossibly muscled stick people on the beach. Who thought sweating in the hot sun on a fishy smelling beach was a good idea? Mary's brain poked her and she reviewed that last statement. _Fishy smelling?_ Slowly, somehow knowing any sudden movements would produce agony, Mary turned her head and tried to open her eyes. Her face hurt, there was something very hard pressing into her ribs, and her left arm was asleep. _What the hell?_ Pretty sure she had been in a fight, Mary concentrated on her eyelids.

The first hint of sunlight not only blinded her, but caused a rush of memories to overwhelm her so brutally that she groaned aloud. Smoke filled clubs. Shots. A cacophony of music, laughter and screams as the sweaty bodies on the dance floor undulated with the rhythm of the sea a few blocks away. She had gone to lose herself in the mass of humanity; unnoticeable amongst the throngs of drunk and disorderly. Lost, she had become. The memories were sketchy after the first club, spotty at best by the time midnight had come and gone, then faded to nothing before sunrise.

Moaning, Mary tried to push herself into a sitting position, but only managed to roll over onto her back with a wince and a curse. _Where the hell am I?_ Shading her eyes with one hand, she surveyed her surroundings. Palm trees, ocean to the far left, the sound of traffic to the right and a large area of mostly weedy grass hosting her sorry body. A park of some sort, or just a field that had escaped the colorful trappings of the resort town. She took stock.

Face bruised on the left, both sets of knuckles abused, ribs sore from where a less than comfortable rock had served as a bed, and her feet were filthy within her flip flops. Rolling up onto one elbow as she sucked in a breath, she determined that most of her was filthy, but thankfully, fully clothed. Her stomach turned over with the new position, and Mary suddenly scrambled to her hands and knees in order to be sick. Nothing much in there, and disturbingly, she didn't have to pee.

Coughing and spitting, she sat back on her heels and ran the back of her wrist across her mouth, eyes watering with discomfort. She tried to think of any other time she had felt this badly. Food poisoning and gun battles in Baltimore four years ago. _Yeah_, she remembered, _that qualified for hellish_. She breathed deeply for a few minutes in order to settle her stomach and quell the shakes, then reached into her pocket for her cell phone to check the time. Her empty pocket. All her empty pockets.

"God damn son of a fucking bitch," she barked, turning in circles to check for dropped belongings.

She found nothing except a half rotted shoe, numerous cigarette butts and a pile of unidentified vegetable matter that likely required an official investigation. Mary gagged again. Slowly levering to her feet, she stumbled a few steps before getting her balance. Dizzy. Sore. She smoothed her hair with shaking hands and wiped her face with the hem of her shirt. Spit a few more times. She'd obviously had a run in with the wrong element…and lost. How embarrassing.

"Drunken U.S. Marshal rolled in broad daylight in beach side resort," she mumbled, trying to figure out which way to walk. "Marshall will love it."

_Marshall_.

Mary stood still as the recent past paraded through her mind with sickening fanfare. The voice mail, the text, the silent phone…and her apology…her good-bye. She remembered checking the cell again and again throughout the night and becoming increasingly stressed as the blank screen continued to taunt her. That was it. He was just going to…go. Walk away. Vamoose.

A ripple of anger quickly faded to slumped resignation. She hung her head and pressed her palms into her eyes to ward off tears. What did she expect him to do? Jump up and track her down? Tell her everything was going to be okay? Not likely. Mary had a feeling her chances at redemption had come to an end and she stood in numbed silence. She truly was that train wreck he couldn't stop watching, and her screams were drowned out by the screech of metal as she annihilated herself on the last stretch of buckled track. He couldn't dig her out without harm to himself, and she didn't blame him for turning away.

Seven years. Seemed like that was her shelf life with men that she loved. Men that held her trust and hope. A combination that hadn't worked out the first time, and she had made damn sure the pain wouldn't be repeated. Until now. Despite her best efforts, the well constructed walls and sabotaged chances, he had gotten in. _The heart wants what the heart wants_…she remembered the phrase. A taste of love and acceptance, and her traitorous emotions rolled in it like catnip. Content. Purring. She tried to banish them for their own good…for Marshall's own good. They didn't realize that the drug would wear off and you'd wake up in the litter box hacking up a hair ball. It wouldn't work.

A sob caught in her throat and she angrily wiped tears away. Needed to move. Forced a shuffle towards the sounds of civilization. She had expected him to leave someday. Surprised it had taken this long, actually. His decision to go was inevitable, she just hadn't expected him to…

The thought was cut off by a frustrated moan, and Mary navigated a small grove of trees. _No_, she told herself. _He wouldn't do that_. He wasn't a cruel man. Assuring herself there would be a message, Mary fought through some abusive palmettos to gain the sidewalk, took a bearing and walked carefully towards the hotel.

/\\\/\\\/

She straightened her clothing and smoothed her hair again before stepping into the lobby. Glaring at anyone who looked at her twice, Mary stalked over to the front desk, eyeballs dry and throbbing with the hangover and the heat. She cleared her throat.

"Buenas dias, Sen ora," the clerk greeted her with caution. "May I help you?"

"I lost my room key." He stared at her. She narrowed her eyes. "Room 3102. Shannon. I'm sure you have an extra key."

"May I see some ID?" the unfortunate man asked.

"No, you may not," Mary growled. "I lost that too. You can open the damn safe and get my badge out if you'd like."

Her disheveled state only accentuated her menacing stance, and the man quickly pulled an extra card key from the desk. Mary snatched it and whirled towards the elevators.

She headed to the phone straight away with plans to retrieve her messages from the lost cell. Receiver halfway to her ear, her gaze was caught by the digital clock on the nightstand. She blinked. The date was wrong…wasn't it? Suddenly feeling queasy, Mary dug in the covers for the remote and turned on the TV. There is was again. Sunday. Not Saturday…Sunday. She dropped the remote and palmed her forehead in confusion. _Oh, God…what happened to Saturday?_

/\\\/\\\/

The hot water sluiced over her shoulders and dripped off the ends of her hair, her breasts. Mary stood still, mesmerized by the swirl of the water down the drain and the echo of the spray in the tiled room. There had been no messages. Not on her cell. Not in the room. She vaguely remembered calling to suspend the credit card and cell phone accounts, recalled a brief conversation with room service, then found herself standing under the stinging spray of the shower. He hadn't called.

She felt disconnected. Tried to come up with some explanation or other salve of reason to stop the deeper hurt. He had left without notification or discussion. Swiftly and quietly…seemingly without looking back. She didn't get to say goodbye and he wouldn't even acknowledge her. Abandoned.

Attempts to dispel the conclusion only met with mental roadblocks and emotional land mines that left her disoriented and unsettled. Panic boiled beneath a shallow layer of forced calm, but Mary knew it wouldn't take much to send her over the edge. She had felt like this before. Strung out and rattled to the core. Had walked far that day…shadowed by her partner. Friend.

Crumpling to crouch beneath the water, Mary slapped her hands against the tile floor until they stung. Silent tears mixed with the water. _I did this…I did this…_

/\\\/\\\/

"Sen ora?" the voice slowly penetrated Mary's foggy brain. She turned her head slowly to look down at the older woman gazing at her with worry. "Esta bien?"

"Si ," Mary stated quietly, tried a smile. "Cansada." She watched the woman walk away with relief.

_No. I'm not alright…probably further from alright than I've been since…ever_. She felt empty. Even 'afraid' was too complicated right now. It reminded her of standing in her driveway in the middle of winter as a small girl. Looking down the empty road, shivering, and listening to the whistle of the wind through the bare branches. Desolate. She would've preferred to be trapped in that basement than standing here in a dimly lit bus terminal waiting for whatever ride pulled in next. There was a chance of being found while she was chained. This road led to nowhere.

She had left everything but toiletries and a change of clothes in the room. Left the lunch on the tray and the TV on. Took the cash. Took the liquor. She had thought of Jerry and Gabe. Tasha and Treena. The chance at something greater had been sabotaged by her own selfishness and carelessness, and she pondered a slow, controlled slide into oblivion that would lead to the safe anonymity that she preached week after week; year after year.

Marshall had saved himself, and for that she was glad. Mary moved forward into the bay as the bus pulled in. It was time to go.

* * *

***** I don't think she even knows where she's going. Doesn't know what she's going to do. Unbeknownst to Mary, Marshall's become a bit of a compass for her. She depends on him to keep her on the tracks. I hope he can find her. Your REVIEWS have been fantastic. Love it! Please keep them coming :) *****


	7. Damned billboards

***** Days of running, hiding, seeking, hoping...can they finally catch each other? And what happens if they do? Emotions are raw and it's easy to push the wrong buttons. *****

* * *

_**Darkness is a harsh term don't you think**_  
_**Yet it dominates the things I see**_

_**It seems that all my bridges have been burned**_  
_**But you say 'That's exactly how this grace thing works'**_  
_**It's not the long walk home that will change this heart**_  
_**But the welcome I receive with every start**_

_**- Roll Away Your Stone, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

She had never not had a destination before. Had never just gotten in the car to drive, walked to see what she could see or set out on any journey without a plan and purpose. There was no point to whimsy or wanderlust. No prize at the end of those adventures other than an empty tank of gas, blistered toes or part ownership of a time share in Belize.

Mary didn't like the unknown. Didn't like surprise parties, blind dates or cleaning out the refrigerator after a long trip. Didn't want to pick a door, guess a number or close her eyes and open her mouth. Folly. Trickery. She wanted the world presented to her straight up without a chaser. No innuendo, metaphoric fluff or subtle allusions to what may or may not be. She didn't have time, didn't like it, and honestly worried she'd misinterpret every clue tossed at her and come to potentially embarrassing conclusions. Subtlety was not her middle name…probably wasn't even in the family tree. Her partner, on the other hand, specialized in cloaking the English language in so much subterfuge he could fly under her radar. Surprise her.

She rested her head against the window of the bus and let her gaze settle unfocused on the myriad of billboards passing by. The anywhere of everywhere flying by the window on the road to somewhere. Mary chuckled sadly. She had indulged in some of the liquor in her small bag before the trip, hoping to dull the pain of the day. Her brain felt just a little mushy, and her thoughts darkly amused her. Surprises. Her chuckle morphed into a shuddery breath as her thoughts shifted back to that day in the office.

What would she have done if Marshall had just said the words? If he hadn't tried to meander about the point and provide that little bit of wiggle room. If she hadn't been able to run? She wanted direct. Wanted no nonsense. Wanted Marshall to give her the plan. What would she have done had he given it to her?

Mary's gaze suddenly sharpened as the bus took an exit. Another stop in a small, seaside town on the way to the larger city. A billboard atop a pharmacy caught her eye; spotlight shining on a name that had her lips curving into a reluctant smile. Signs. Slinging her bag of belongings over her shoulder, she stood to exit. Nowhere had a name.

/\\\/\\\/

He gripped the wheel a little more tightly as he thought of Mary's flight. He was used to being able to predict her. She was a creature of habit…didn't like surprises, shot down blips on the radar and seldom embraced spontaneity in any way, shape or form. The fact that she had gone to Mexico in the first place raised his eyebrows, but her subsequent chaotic actions had him chasing his own ass and he was having a hard time finding his way.

Marshall was sure she had no plan. She was making decisions on the fly, and unless they were pinned down with little chance of survival, he tried to discourage that course of action as much as possible. He was the strategist. The one who liked to look at all sides of an issue, devour knowledge and chew on it, then present a variety of options that could be debated and modified. Games of strategy, subterfuge and multiple choice delighted him. He liked to outguess and manipulate. Envision the pieces on the board in a future state. The thrill of the hunt. Gambit.

Mary implemented. Took the solution presented and made it work. Forced it to work. Switched the pieces on the board around when he went to the bathroom. She was the dog with the bone and the big guns. Ready. Aim. Fire. She didn't want to know about the subtleties or the twists and turns of decisions made. Didn't have time for questions and second guesses. She wanted to know what to do. Mary without a plan tended to be erratic, impulsive and ultimately, dangerous.

"You're supposed to wait for the plan, Mary," he muttered.

He knew she hadn't made it to La Paz. His morning visit to the bus station had paid off. The driver of the last round trip the night before had remembered the blonde woman. Recalled her suddenly exiting the bus at one of the side stops. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember which one, only that it was about half way. Marshall had started his drive up the coast shortly afterwards, following the driver's route. A plan. A systematic search for someone who didn't want to be found. He had an advantage, though. He would bet she didn't think he was looking for her.

Marshall checked his map as the next exit appeared. Slowing to navigate the ramp, he looked out over the buildings of the seaside town towards the Gulf. The scenery remained beautiful despite the turmoil he brought. He turned right onto the road leading to the beach and a bilingual billboard caught his eye.

"_Need a rest? Been a long day? Stop by Gabriel's Beachfront Bar and Grill."_

"Well, I'll be damned…or not." Somehow, Marshall knew he was in the right town.

/\\\/\\\/\

Marshall looked to where the bartender pointed, gaze falling on the familiar blonde head, and he almost sank to his knees in the sand right there. Finally. He wanted to grab her and shake her senseless. Yell and scream and make sure she knew the exact depth of his worry and grief over the last few days. Make her listen to every last horrible scenario he had constructed in his mind as he searched for her. Wanted to hold her.

"She showed up before I opened on Monday morning," the heavyset man cleaning the glasses filled him in. "Sits there most of the time. Drinks. Saw her walk along the beach a few times yesterday. She was still there last night when I closed."

Marshall watched her for a few minutes, then asked the bartender for a bottle of water. He took a few deep breaths and headed across the sand to her table.

Mary's unfocused gaze lazily followed the wind surfer on his choppy ride across the bay. They were out there each afternoon as the winds shifted offshore. Ripples and snaps of color. Racing. Flying. Some would clear the waves with tricks. Calculated moves that looked disastrous, but they almost always landed upright. Pointed themselves in the right direction and let the wind refill the sail.

And here she sat…between wave and sky without even a clear feel for up and down anymore. Pointed nowhere. Wasn't even entirely sure she knew where 'here' was. Far from upright.

The desire to drink herself into oblivion had worn off with a dwindling supply of cash, and with the emerging sobriety came the realization that she needed a plan. She figured she'd have to go back to Cabo and retrieve her badge and passport to get things rolling. First, though, she needed to be able to walk without staggering. _Walk where? Where are you going, Mary?_

She couldn't go back to Albuquerque. Didn't want to go back. The city would mock her. Buildings, street corners, the scent of the desert…empty desks. There would be no place to hide. She had to do something...different. No hint of familiarity that would trigger the memories. Mary vaguely wondered if the pain in her belly was from hunger or loss. Closed her eyes with a sigh as she didn't really want to think about it yet.

"Comfy?"

She startled and her eyes flew open. Stared at the water bottle held in front of her, mesmerized by the shape of the hand holding it. She hadn't run far enough. The familiar fingers and wrist were unexpected; the blossom of hope in her chest was unwelcome. She didn't question how he had found her, only why he had come.

"I let you go," Mary said softly, eyes never leaving his hand.

He studied the still woman in front of him, anger and frustration slowly joined by concern. She reminded him of photographs left too long in the sun; faded and fragile. He noted the scratches and scrapes, the fine tremors in her hands resting in her lap. The bruised knuckles. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but her skin seemed pale even with her tan and her lips were chapped. Clean, but unkempt…neglected. Marshall palmed the back of her head as he crouched down next to her, setting the water bottle on the table. The contact made her flinch.

"I have spent three sleepless nights tracking you down. I didn't know if you were dead or alive…lying on the side of the road somewhere or trapped in a basement," he gritted his teeth on the last word and Mary grimaced. "I nearly made a visit to Faber, there's a petty thief in Cabo who wishes his path had never crossed mine, and the local constabulary would like nothing better than for me to leave the country. So I'm wondering…what the hell were you thinking?"

His voice was low and intense, and Mary could feel the frustration radiating off of him. She watched as a sail hit the waves and the rider flipped into the water. He grabbed onto his board and began the struggle to right himself; seemingly angry with the sea for its audacity and utter disregard for the precarious balance of those it touched.

"What the hell do you want from me, Marshall?" His hand gripped her head more tightly, then loosened. Stroked. Mary swallowed. "Want to twist the knife a little deeper? Think I might beg for forgiveness? Beg you to stay? You're a little late." She balled her hands into fists. "My sleepless nights are behind me. Leave me alone."

He removed his hand, stood, and moved away. It was all she could do not to shout after him. She remembered another time she had to let someone walk away. Hugging herself, she grunted with remembered pain…fresh pain. _There's not enough. Let him go._

A chair was placed in front of her, familiar boots setting into the sand between her feet. Her gaze rose to see his knees nearly touching hers, elbows rested and hands tightly folded. Joy and dread wrestled for dominance with his return.

"Mary, look at me." She refused. Marshall blew out a slow breath and she could imagine the pinched brow and flared nostrils. "Did you really think you could turn tail and run from me? Hide from me?" A heartbeat. "From me?" She said nothing; waited him out.

Marshall was frustrated by her silence. Her posture belied her voiceless state, screaming anxiety and anger. He needed a different approach and leaned back in the chair to force himself to relax. Stared at a sandpiper trotting across a dune for a moment. Spoke when he felt more in control.

"I seem to have missed something, and I'm rather…distressed… that my partner, my friend, wrote me off without any explanation. It's unsettling at best." He got a reaction.

"How dare you sit there and accuse me of writing you off without explanation?" Mary's eyes snapped to his face and she felt tears gather. "You were already leaving! Were you going to give **me** an explanation?" She held her hands up as he opened his mouth to voice a protest. "I get it, Marshall. You didn't want a scene, and I'm really good at causing a scene. I screwed up. But the silent treatment was a little harsh, don't you think?"

Marshall was completely confused, and Mary's tears were upsetting. "You've lost me here. You've got this…agenda…laid out for me than I don't even know about. Do you think you could fill me in on the details here, Mare? Or were you too drunk to remember?"

"Don't try to turn this back on me," she hissed. "I know what I heard…what I saw."

"Jesus, Mary," he barked, leaning forward with hands on his knees. "Spit it out. What is this great adventure I'm leaving you for?"

He was pretending like he didn't know, and Mary's grip on reason and control was slipping. "It's not a secret anymore, asshole. You don't have to pretend. I'm not going to try to stop you or make it difficult, and you don't need to sugarcoat it with pretty words and promises to try and talk me down. I'm down. Bottomed out. Lying in the proverbial gutter. I can't do it, okay? What part of that did you not understand?" She pulled off her sunglasses and wiped at her bruised eyes. "Why do you keep making me do this to you? Don't you learn your lesson? What sort of masochistic fool are you? You keep coming back for more and I've got nothing for you. I let you off the hook. You're free. You wanted to go, so just fucking go already!" The rant ended in nearly a shout. She wanted a drink.

The last three days were blending together into a Kafkaesque nightmare, and Mary wasn't making any sense. He watched her and thought of railroad yards in the afternoon, rivers and rooftops. He had to stop this. She fumbled with the water bottle; couldn't open it.

Marshall leaned in and gently helped her with the cap on the bottle. He waited until she had taken a drink before he firmly took her hands. She pulled against him for a brief time, then slumped in resignation as weariness consumed her. She didn't want to fight with him. A flash of color caught her eye and she saw a windsurfer haul a board out of the water. Laid it on the sand. Giving up for the day.

The tension in her body vibrated into her hands, and Marshall pressed them together, encompassing them within his own. Holding her together.

"I'm not going anywhere, Mary." Each word was carefully pronounced, "There's no secret. I'm not leaving. Not the job, not Albuquerque…not you." He saw her brow furrow. "Why do you think I'm leaving?"

She met his gaze finally, still suspicious. Hoarse. "Pearson's office called. You put me down as a reference, Marshall. I know about the application for Atlanta. They're trying to rush it through. It's a little difficult to spin that into anything but what it is." Sanity was slowly resettling into her veins.

Marshall took a deep breath and closed his eyes, head falling forward. He forgot about that. _Jesus._ Had forgotten to tell her he put her name on that piece of paper. A simple omission. They had been so busy, and it really wasn't high on his list of priorities. He couldn't look at her.

"I applied for an instructor's position. Teaching tactical strategies to the newbies for a few weeks twice a year. Something fun and different and a break from the routine." He paused, swallowed. "I forgot to tell you. I'm so sorry."

Mary just stared at him, frozen in disbelief. The palms rustled in the breeze and the peddlers on the pier called their wares. She felt sick. He eventually raised his head to investigate her silence.

"Marshall," a whisper laden with pain and regret.

If possible, she looked worse than she had a few minutes prior. He could find nothing to say and ultimately found himself on the defensive.

"Dammit, Mary, why didn't you just call and ask me about it? Why did you run off to Mexico and…" he couldn't finish the thought.

"What?" Mary reclaimed her hands and rubbed her face. Hurt. Confused. "I was already **here**, Marshall. That's not why I came. That was…" She waved a hand in the air, floundering. "You didn't call me back!"

"I didn't know that's why you called! I didn't even listen to the message because I thought you were just…" He checked himself.

Marshall dropped his head into his hands with a loud sigh; spoke to the ground. "This is getting us nowhere. I'm exhausted and confused, and you're…well, you're a mess, Mare. We need to sleep. We need to talk. Where are you staying?"

Mary thought of campsites and beach showers. "Nowhere."

Marshall looked at her hard and she let her eyes slide back to the bay. He took in the small backpack under the table and recalled hotel safes, lost credit cards and disconnected numbers.

"I'll get us a place." He rose, returned the chair and came back to offer a hand.

"I don't want to go with you." Mary whispered. A lie.

He hesitated for a second, then reached down to take her hand and coaxed her to her feet.

"I'm not leaving without you."

* * *

***** Oh, a sigh relief that he found her. But where do they go from here? Can this be fixed? I hope the reunion was satisfying...please REVIEW! *****


	8. Dented armor

***** The dark of night is often the best time for confessions of the soul. There's no wall left to run into, no further to fall. It's laid on the line. *****

* * *

_**Roll away your stone I will roll away mine**_  
_**Together we can see what we will find**_  
_**Don't leave me alone at this time**_  
_**For I'm afraid of what I will discover inside**_

_**Cause you told me that I would find a home**_  
_**Beneath the fragile substance of my soul**_  
_**And I have filled this void with things unreal**_  
_**And all the while my character it steals**_

_**- Roll Away Your Stone, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

Mary rolled over with a faint moan, her eyes slowly opening as her discomfort increased. The soft sheets and dry, cool air were briefly disorienting after nights on the beach, and she had to think for a moment to remember where she was. Hotel room. With Marshall. Her muscles relaxed, but her stomach was still engaged in some distressing flips. Five days of little sustenance except alcohol will definitely challenge the most iron of guts, and Mary's was voicing its displeasure once again.

Marshall had tried to feed her when they arrived, but humiliation was nature's appetite suppressant and she did little but push the food around on her plate. He asked questions, she replied with some variation of 'I don't remember', and the conversation that never started died a slow death by the time the check arrived. The silence between them was anything but comfortable, and she excused herself to shower and crawl into bed as soon as they entered the room. It was the awkwardness of seeing an ex-lover after a long separation, and Mary wondered why it felt that way.

Quietly sliding out of bed, she assured herself Marshall was still asleep across the room before heading to the bathroom. Her stomach settled with a drink of water and a cool cloth, but now she was awake and not likely to fall back to sleep soon. Her partner snored softly, and the sound brought a small smile to her lips. It comforted her. Having him here…having him with her…comforted her. After living a life where comfort had little to do with living, breathing human beings, the realization furrowed her brow. Offers of comfort, of kindness and understanding, had always disconcerted her. They felt odd…false. She had no practiced response and the awkwardness of the moment negated any benefit.

Swallowing, Mary bit her lips as she realized she was **hoping** for some comfort this time. Truly desiring the kind words and gentle touch of another as she slowly gathered the shards of her self respect and dignity back to her. Wanted it, but didn't know how to ask. Didn't know if she could ask. Wanted to extend it to Marshall, but potential rejection made her wary. He was angry with her.

Mary wandered over to the chair in front of the balcony doors, curled down into it and gazed into the night. The burgeoning crescent moon cast its reflection onto the calm bay, joining the lights from beach parties and high rise hotels. Reflections. She thought of looking at her own life in a mirror…her own actions over the past days. Self analysis was not on her usual list of things to do, as breaking mirrors was said to bring bad luck, but there didn't seem to be anything left. There was a pattern staring her in the face: running. Always running. Never towards; always from, and she now knew it could come to a crashing halt. She was tired of running.

Marshall stirred and Mary looked over to watch him. Shaking her head, she tried to sort through the confusion. Comfort and pain. Joy and dread. Hope and despair. How could one man inflict such a range of emotion upon her? At what point did his life become so entwined with hers that the potential loss of his presence spurred her to slowly self destruct? It was as thought she…needed him to navigate. That point of reference from which to gauge direction and distance. Too far away, and she got lost.

He had come looking for her. Had known she had wandered far afield and set out to bring her home. Sought after her. Her heart felt full for a moment and she smiled slightly as she rubbed her lips with her fingers. She had been pursued. The object of desire that had nothing to do with physical gratification. But why? Her smile faded with the resurgence of uncertainty. Was this capture out of duty and obligation? Or was her presence as vital to him as his was to her?

_Mary, you failed Philosophy 101, remember? Why are you trying to outthink yourself?_ She rubbed her face with the self reprimand. A sparkle of fireworks in the distance caught her eye and she was reminded of diamonds. Diamond thieves. Treena. Mary sometimes wished her witnesses were mute. Their unintended and often unwelcome advice would ring in her ears at the most inopportune times. Marshall called it kismet and chuckled at her irritation. Mary looked up the word when he wasn't around and had to reluctantly agree.

She may not believe in happily ever after, but she believed there could be a happy. That there may be the possibility of something greater than what was dumped in your lap everyday. She had seen it…from a distance…up close. But to reach out and grab it…you had to be courageous enough to stand this close to someone, without guile, defenseless, and let them in. Looking back at the window, Mary focused on her own faint reflection. _That's the tricky part._

/\\\/\\\/\

Marshall's eyes blinked open as he woke slowly from the unsettling dream. Chasing Mary again as he only caught glimpses of her around corners and across streets. Maddening. He turned his head to check on her and sat straight up at the sight of the empty bed.

"Mary!"

She heard the panic in his voice. Wondered at it. "I'm right here, Marshall." The quiet statement was meant to soothe.

He was awake now. The adrenaline surge assuring there would be no return to slumber anytime soon. Mary sat quietly in the chair across the room. Somehow, he knew she had been there for a while.

"Why are you up? Are you okay?" He was concerned about her in many ways.

Mary felt a nervousness in her gut. "I've been thinking." She took a deep breath. "Thinking about how to apologize…how to explain. Thinking about you. Thinking about things that are buried under piles. Thinking about being afraid." Her hands were shaking now, and she tucked them under her elbows.

Marshall sat up and scooted to rest his back against the headboard. She sounded tired and somehow skittish. He remembered her voice message. This was going somewhere.

Mary thought of waking up in a park and forged ahead. "I thought you had abandoned me. Just left without saying goodbye. I couldn't think straight…couldn't see straight. And I knew I had pushed you to it…knew I had to let you go, but I hurt…" she paused to will back tears. Breathe.

The dark, silent room added weight to her words, and Marshall waited, his throat tight with emotion.

"And then you were here, and I was confused. I don't know what you want…" She sighed deeply, "Dammit, I'm not doing a very good job of this."

"Mary, despite your reprieve in your message, my promise holds. I won't quit. I won't walk out on you. Life prevents us from promising we won't leave, but I can promise with certainty that I will never abandon you." His words were soft and encouraging. He sensed her floundering and had tried to anchor her in one spot.

"Why not?" she whispered, tears escaping as she continued to watch the moon. "Why don't you go?"

He knew she knew. He had been telling her for years…showing her. Marshall thought of strategy and games and questions that could be interpreted in a number of ways. Thought of defeat…and rejection.

"Why do you want me to say it?" he asked, pained.

"Because, for once, I just want you to give me a straight answer, Marshall. I don't want to have to dig through some obscure reference book or figure out how many definitions one word can have. I don't want to have to guess and worry that I've misunderstood. I'm tired of jumping through hoops and doing the dance. Just tell me." She was frustrated. Tired. Scared.

Her words surprised him. All this time he had deliberately skirted the issue thinking he was protecting her, protecting himself. She had spent that time wondering when he was going to get to the point. Missed calls.

"I love you, Mary. You know that." He was sure his heart was going to pound out of his chest as she was silent for a bit.

"You shouldn't. I've been trying to make you stop for a while now. You may have noticed. I'm trying to save you, Marshall, and you need to stop." Her voice was shaking.

Marshall blinked back tears. "I can't. You can't just stop loving someone. I could no more stop loving you than I could stop breathing. Either would be my slow death." Time to turn the tables.

"Why do think you have to save me? Why do you want me to stop?" he asked.

_You have nowhere left to run, Mary_, she thought. It was only fair to return his honesty. "I can't give you what you want, Marshall. I can't be the woman you need, the woman you deserve. Jesus, you're a fucking knight in shining armor and I'm…damaged at best." It was easier as the words tumbled out. The darkness hid her. "You put me up on this pedestal and I fall off every goddamn time. And worse, I claw at you on the way down until we lay in bloody heap. I can't keep doing that to you. You can't want that!"

He wiped tears away. Had no idea she had thought these things. She painted a picture of a woman tortured by her own self imposed faults. Pushed to deny herself because she only saw pain for him.

"You're making decisions for me again." His voice was soft. "I know who you are, Mary Shannon. I've been there when the shit hits the fan, when the cards are down, and when the only thing we have between us and death is the will to sacrifice ourselves for the other. There's no pedestals or knights…there's just me, picking you up and dusting you off. And if you'd just let me stand there and stay by your side, you wouldn't fall down."

Mary was silent except for muffled sniffles. Marshall could no longer remain this distant. He was anxious. Slowly sliding from the bed, he moved to sit on the foot of Mary's bed. Near the chair, but not too close.

"Mary," he began, choosing his words carefully, "I know you push at me to keep me at a distance, but I didn't know why. I didn't know you thought I was asking you to give me more than you think you can give. I've been waiting for some clue from you. Some morsel of encouragement or inkling of returned feelings. I try to interpret your actions and words to mean…something. When I talked to you in the office before you left, I was looking for some…resolution of sorts, I suppose. You ran, and I reacted. And then Faber." He cleared his throat to continued, "I didn't know if you were cutting off your nose to spite your face, or if you were rubbing my nose in it. Either way, I was angry. I ignored your message because I wanted you to know I was angry. A subtle, albeit ill timed, dig on my part, driven by what I thought was outright rejection."

His roundabout explanation was typical. She paraphrased, "You thought I didn't like you, and got pissed that I took the wrong cowboy to the rodeo?" A small grin forced its way through her tears.

He had to share the grin. "I couldn't have said it better myself."

"Marshall," she began, turning to face him. "I don't do clues and I don't do subtle. Baseball bats upside the head are your best approach. Even if you think you know that I know what you mean, you probably should just ask. I will give you straight answer unless I need to think about it. Then I'll tell you that I need to think about it."

He picked up on the thought. "And I can't tell what's bothering you…bothering us, unless you talk to me. I can tell when there's something wrong, but I'm not a mind reader. You won't shock me, scare me or run me off. You can tell me anything. I want you to tell me everything." He took a deep breath. "Even if that thing is something I don't want to hear."

They sat in silence as they both considered the other's words.

"I'm afraid," she whispered, teary again. "You're my partner and my friend. I'm afraid that letting myself feel something will destroy you…destroy us. I don't want to hurt you anymore than I already have."

Marshall's heart leapt in his chest. She wasn't denying feelings for him, she was only doubting her ability to allow herself to feel them.

"St. Bartholomew said, 'Many of us spend our whole lives running from feeling with the mistaken belief that you cannot bear the pain. But you have already borne the pain. What you have not done is feel all you are beyond the pain'." He waited.

For once, for probably the first time, the flowery treatise was utterly clear. Mary remembered standing in a shower thinking he was gone forever and crying tears down that drain. Pain. It couldn't possibly be worse than that. She stood. She had told Gabe that there was an order to things. You shouldn't move backward when forward was the only logical way to go. She imagined he'd probably tell her that it required a leap of faith.

She stepped toward Marshall, then hesitated. He stood. Waited.

"Damaged, at best," she whispered, looking up at him.

"Dented armor," he replied.

Mary stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his shoulder and holding him tight. Marshall's arms were quick to envelop her, and he murmured into her hair. She wasn't entirely sure of the words, but the meaning was clear. He wasn't letting her go.

Marshall coaxed her into the bed when they began to stagger, both exhausted and needing the comfort of the other to sleep. He nearly wept again as she burrowed into him, the relief and hope combining to overrule his usual stoicism. The feeling of protectiveness nearly overwhelming. It wasn't going to be easy, and they needed to lay some ground rules, but at least the possibility lay before them.

* * *

***** That's about all you can do when the chips are finally down. Play the cards you've got. This was supposed to be the last chapter, but I feel a little more closure is needed...a picture of a road that may be traveled. Stay tuned...oh...and REVIEW..please! 8****


	9. Simple kisses

***** Our story comes to an end :( Thank you for journeying with me, and for letting me give Mary a voice. How do they do? What does daylight bring? *****

* * *

_**In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die**_  
_**Where you invest your love, you invest your life**_  
_**In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die**_  
_**Where you invest your love, you invest your life**_

_**Awake my soul, awake my soul**_  
_**Awake my soul**_

_**- Awake My Soul, Mumford and Sons**_

* * *

She could feel his heartbeat under her hand. Feel the warmth of his body and the shift of muscles as he breathed. Awake in the early, gray hours of the morning, Mary could think of nothing more than the conversation the night before and the man sleeping next to her now.

"_I could no more stop loving you than I could stop breathing. Either would be my slow death."_

There was no way to misinterpret that. No double meaning or hidden clues. He bared his soul. To her. Mary felt a little frisson of fear with the thought. Could she do the same? Leave herself wide open for heartache and loss? Could she love him fully? He was precious to her as partner and friend, and she never questioned her loyalty to him there; would never hesitate to sacrifice for him. But she had pointedly refused to see him physically. Did not want to wonder what he would feel like, how he would touch her, how they would fit.

Friendship and sex had always remained mutually exclusive in her book. She had tried to tie the two together with Raph, but nights in his bed were purely physical release no matter how many times she let him hold her afterwards, or tried to match his endearments with weak versions of her own. She would call him a friend, yes, but not one she would sacrifice for…die for.

The man beside her cared for her far beyond the physical. And she for him. She felt a little butterfly of…something odd…in her gut as she wondered what it would be like to lay with someone who revered you. To please someone you had sworn to trust and protect. There would be much more there than just skin on skin contact. More than just acting on lust and arousal. There would be unspoken words, promises…vows; a level of intimacy that would bind you to someone.

Mary watched him now, relaxed and unguarded. A strong jaw with stubble slightly thicker than she was used to seeing, broad shoulders and a well muscled chest under his t-shirt, under her hand. Lean. His arms were strong, she knew that from experience, and his hands…

Mary was fascinated with his hands. Strong enough to cripple, yet deft enough to craft a delicate bird from a piece of paper. As if he knew her thoughts, Marshall shifted in his sleep and reached across to slide his hand along her wrist, coming to rest on her forearm and gripping slightly before settling. Warmth pooled in her belly from the contact, and her mind inexplicably imagined his hands beyond her arm.

_But, this is __**Marshall**_, she reminded herself, unsettled by the hint of arousal. The man who annoyed her on a daily basis. Her geeky partner who carried an Oxyclean pen in his pocket…and used it. He had farm animals on his pajama pants for God's sake. Mary stifled a chuckle. Her brain prodded her. This was also the man carried her when she couldn't walk, held her when she shook, and brought her soup when she was sick. He was here because he would never let her go. His touch **should** mean something. _And I have polka dots on my underwear._ Mary smiled.

She scooted closer to her partner and laid her head next to her hand. Closing her eyes, Mary thought about the risks of something new.

/\\\/\\\

Marshall sat down next to her on the bench at the end of the pier. They had ventured out to find some lunch after sleeping well into the morning, and both were curious as to the offerings under the brightly colored umbrellas that dotted the planks out into the bay. Though feeling substantially better, Mary was still far off her game, and she decided to just sit for a while under the pretense of watching some fishermen on the rocks. Marshall gave her a look and she shooed him off to get them some lunch.

He now handed her an odd looking kabob wrapped in waxed paper. She eyeballed it hesitantly.

"Go on, try it," he urged. "Live a little."

"I'd like to **keep** doing that, thank you, and this does not inspire confidence," Mary drawled. "Couldn't you just find a taco or something?"

"You know," he muttered around a bite, "some people go to other countries to learn about the culture. Try the food and drink. Experience it beyond the hotel room."

Mary chuckled as she carefully tasted the meat. "Trust me, I've experienced it beyond the hotel room. And I've got the drink thing covered." She raised her eyebrows in surprise as the dish was relatively tasty.

Marshall reached over and gently touched her bruised eye. Mary swatted at him. "You really don't remember how you got that?" he asked.

She shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. Embarrassed. "No fucking clue. Don't remember the whole day…or most of the night before that." She chewed in silence for a minute. "Jinx would've been proud."

"Definitely not one of your finer moments," Marshall agreed.

Mary glared at him sideways. "That's what I just said."

"A little out of control. Over the edge. Beyond reason. Off the rails," Marshall teased with the litany.

"You're an ass," she said as she elbowed him. Marshall grunted, then choked and coughed on his food.

"I'm dying," he sputtered.

"Someone, and I won't say who, once told me if a choking person can make a sound then they're not actually choking. Tell it to someone who cares." Mary smiled at his dramatics.

He settled, then pointed at her knuckles with the kabob. "Looks like you got your licks in, at least."

She chuckled, "I just hope I didn't kill anybody."

"There didn't seem to be a plethora of severely beaten corpses in the morgue, so you're probably all right there."

His words sobered her quickly. She hadn't really thought of the logistics he must've have handled in order to systematically search for her. Hadn't yet thanked him for finding her.

"You looked for me at the morgue?"

Marshall wiped his hands with the waxed paper as he finished. Stared out at the sea. "I honestly didn't know **where** to look for a while, Mare, and there were places I didn't want to look. But I had to know."

She reached over to set her hand on his forearm. "I'm sorry." He looked at her hand. "And thank you," she finished.

Her touch reminded him of confessions in the dark of night. He placed his hand over hers, holding her to him.

"You can't run from me anymore, Mary. No more cowboys. Not if we're really going to give something a chance. You can't tear me down or treat me like an unwanted accessory when you're threatened or scared. I can't do hurt for hurt's sake anymore." Marshall looked over at her to see her looking at him with an unreadable expression. "I need you to know that. Because I know you're still thinking, and I want you to go into this…whatever it is…fully aware. Cards on the table."

His words made her anxious. He was going to take this seriously; was laying down expectations well in advance. She was going to be held to some standards…and rightly so.

"I don't do cowboys when I'm with someone. You know that," she rebuked him. "I didn't know I treated you that way…at least, it was never my intention. And I certainly don't think of you that way. I have a disconnect between my brain and my mouth most days…forget to take a few practice swings before I step up to bat. I'll try to be more careful, but it may be better if you just promise to call me on it." Behavioral overhaul was out of the question, but Mary didn't think that was what he was asking. He was asking for awareness…for that consideration of another ahead of yourself. That, she could work on.

Marshall laced his fingers through hers and Mary grinned at the action. It was nice. "I won't push you. Not into anything, not out of anything," he said softly. "I know how I feel, but I know you haven't really had much time to ponder upon it yet. And if you find you don't feel…anything…then I'll just have to double your load of paperwork whilst I weep and rend my garments for a week."

Mary looked at him, surprised, then laughed out loud at his comic expression. "You're an idiot." Watched him for a minute after the humor faded. "I would hurt you."

He released her hand with a sad smile. "Eat your lagarto, woman." He waited for her to pick up the food.

"It would be an honest hurt. Acceptable. I would know where I stand and move forward from there. I know what I want in life…in love. It's something I'll continue to seek."

She contemplated the now empty wooden stick. Poked at the crumbs in the paper. Stalled. "And what would happen to us," Mary finally asked, afraid.

Marshall reached over to flip some of her hair behind her shoulder. Wanted to see her profile. He set his arm behind her on the bench, fingers barely brushing her opposite shoulders.

"We would continue to operate as the best U.S. Marshal team in the country. We'd harass witnesses, Stan, and other LEOs that dare to trespass into our territory. We'd drag people into SUVs, push them into new lives and collapse on your couch at the end of the day with pizza and beer. We'd fight over who gets to drive and nearly come to blows at least once a month over something trivial. We'd drag each other into family spats and booby trap Charlie's desk. You may find someone…I may find someone. We'd cheer each other on. Things would change, but we…you and me…we'll still be us."

Mary watched the gulls hopping nervously just out of reach. Waiting for a morsel. Hoping for a crumb. Daring proximity with the chance that they might snag a prize. Skittish.

Marshall's fingers brushed against her as he spoke again, "I booked the room for five more days. I'm going back to Albuquerque tonight."

Mary turned to protest and he held up a finger. "You need time to regroup and I need time to breathe. You missed out on your vacation and I feel bad about that. Enjoy Los Barriles. Enjoy the beach. When you come home," he shrugged, slightly amused by her irritated expression, "we can talk." He laid out the plan.

"What if I don't want to talk?" Peevish. She evaluated the plan.

"Then we can have sex," he offered.

Mary's blush and slightly shocked expression was not lost on her partner. He grinned widely and she smacked him with a greasy hand. Twice. Sputtered. "Jesus, Marshall! What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What? That's not an option?" He laughed. "C'mon. I need to get packed up and I want to make sure you have everything you need before I take off." He threw away their trash as they headed back down the pier.

"What's laga…lagar…" Mary was trying to remember the word.

"Lagarto?"

"Yeah. What did I just eat?"

"Lizard."

Mary stopped and just stared at him. Marshall watched her for a moment, then bolted.

/\\\/\\\/

"You're worse than an old man, Marshall," Mary exclaimed in exasperation. "You've checked your luggage twice, under the bed three times and now you're feeling yourself up. Trust me, if I find **that** in the sheets I'll bring it home."

Marshall stood still with his eyes squeezed shut. Pained.

"What?" she snapped.

"Just…imagining how you'd smuggle that through customs." He peeked at her, rewarded by another blush.

_Christ, what was wrong with her? _She hadn't blushed this much since…ever. Mary forced a disgusted look. "You're such a perv." She grabbed his suitcase and lugged it to the door.

He chuckled at her avoidance techniques. "Okay, you've got my phone and I've got the spare. Your flight leaves Cabo at 10:45 Wednesday morning, so catch the shuttle early…" Mary cut him off by putting her hand over his mouth.

"Amazingly enough, I've managed to travel all by myself for a number of years now. I've got it." Gently rebuked.

She was close enough to grab, and he did so, pulling her into an embrace. "Just a little residual worry. Sorry."

Mary returned the hug, silently pleased with his efforts. His care. He smelled good, and she was going to miss him. Miss this ease of company they had finally managed to recapture after all this time. The nagging ache in her gut that had plagued her for so long released its last knots and she sighed.

"Hey," he called. Mary looked up at him.

Marshall's hand slid into her hair as he brought his lips to hers. It was a simple kiss. A matter of mouths meeting, lingering for just the right amount of time, then reluctantly parting. Just a kiss.

They stared at each other for a moment. Frozen inches apart. His thumb caressed her temple and Mary swallowed. Just a kiss.

Marshall shook his head slightly, then hugged her quickly again and stepped back. Mary still looked slightly dazed. He was proud and worried at the same time. Shrugged and smirked as he opened the door, "I didn't know if I'd get another chance."

Mary wondered if her ears were supposed to buzz like that in Mexico. She mentally regrouped and pushed him out the door. "I give you credit for stealth. Now, get your skinny ass back to Albuquerque before I do something rash."

"I wanna stay for that," Marshall protested.

Mary smiled and waved as she shut the door, "See you Wednesday, partner!"

She wandered over to the balcony and stood in the sun. The breeze picked up her hair and she tilted her head to catch the scents of the seaside. Wind in her sails and pointed in the right direction. Haphazardly upright.

/\\\/\\\/

Marshall was just finishing a call to a local jewelers to secure a job for the most recent witness he and Stan had processed on Monday when his cell phone buzzed. Placing the handset in the cradle, he snorted in annoyance at yet another interruption. Damn day started badly and only got worse.

"Marshall," he snapped, attention on the computer screen.

"Well, hello to you too," Mary snapped back. "Guess where I am?"

Marshall stood suddenly as he realized the time. _Crap!_ He grabbed his keys and nodded at Stan as he exited.

Mary continued, "Guess what I don't see? Your ass in an SUV…at the curb. And it's past noon. I haven't eaten and the window that you have between getting here and getting your ass chewed is becoming amazingly small."

Mary hung up and he grimaced. Marshall hated being late…avoided it at all costs. And today, of all days, he should've paid more attention to the time. He was going to eat crow for this until he choked. His stomach did some nervous flips on the way to the airport. The uncertainly of the unknown.

Mary tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for Marshall. She was more nervous than annoyed, but both emotions tended to make her snippy. He'd survive. She was looking forward to seeing him. Looking forward to getting back to normal.

He pulled up in front of her as she made an exaggerated point of looking at the watch she didn't wear on her wrist. Marshall rolled his eyes and jumped out to pop open the back. Mary handed him her luggage and walked around to climb into the passenger seat. Marshall watched her for a moment, then followed suit into the driver's seat.

She turned to look at him as he reached for the gear shift. Grinned as she spoke.

"What? I don't get a kiss hello? We're really going to have to work on that."

The truck stayed in park, and Marshall reached over to pull her to him.

* * *

***** My little romantic heart says "YAY!" :) All I can say is, Marshall's got his hands full...but I think he's well aware :) And happy! Thank you all for your unending support and amazing, amazing REVIEWS! Pop on over to LJ in a few days and see what roar and I whip up together! *****


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